


Silver and Gold

by Jikatabi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Consent Issues, Crying, Gangbang, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sex for Favors, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 01:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15304086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jikatabi/pseuds/Jikatabi
Summary: Young Victor is offered funding to help prepare him for his first Olympics. For a price.





	Silver and Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teuthida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teuthida/gifts).



Victor had been cautiously excited when he'd received the letter from the federation, talking about potential funding for next season, and he'd dressed nicely for the occasion in the hopes that they'd give him the money for his training.

He hadn't expected this.

There was a room full of men, looking at him in a way that they shouldn't have been. Victor sometimes liked it when he put on some good clothes and cute guys did that thing where they were clearly mentally undressing him. It was like that, only he hadn't been trying for it, and they weren't cute guys, they were older than him and federation employees.

"You're young, but you're one of our best hopes for a medal at the Olympics next season," one of the men was saying. One of the older ones, his eyes sharp in his lined face. "But you understand, it's often difficult to move from juniors to seniors. Lots of talent fades away around then. So we'd like to help support you in this hard transition, with the hope that you'd be on the podium – potentially, we could even have a podium sweep if all goes perfectly. Wouldn't that be grand for Russia?"

A couple of the men in the room murmured vague words of agreement. Victor, standing at the end of the table – there wasn't a seat for him – was too aware of how they were all staring at him. "I'd love to be able to represent Russia with a medal finish," he said. (Gold. Gold or nothing. He didn't care what anyone said about his age or the stupid jokes about which one would match with his hair. _Gold_.)

"Of course, money isn't infinite. We can only support so many skaters, and you might be the record setter, but there's other young men and women coming up who we need to provide for in this important season. Nobody could say that you don't deserve to be one of them, but there's always a price to be paid for these things." He paused and waited.

"A price," Victor echoed.

"You're a smart young man. You know what we want. An evening of your time."

Victor swallowed. Their _eyes_. He knew he was pretty. That people wanted him. This was....

But he needed money to compete. Money his family didn't have to spare. And the club could pay for his training and his ice time off of his winnings, but he needed other things, too. New skates, especially since he was outgrowing his. New costumes. Lilia's choreography. He couldn't win anything without those things.

He didn't want to say yes. Didn't want them to touch him. But if it was one evening, maybe it would be okay. He could do it and then do his best to forget about it. "How much funding?"

"Come here. We can set up the transfer right now, so you don't even have to worry about us holding up our end of the bargain." He opened his laptop and gestured.

Victor went and had to suppress a gasp at the numbers he was shown. (Good costumes, lots of crystals. Custom skates.) The man put in all the details and hovered over the button to confirm it, glancing up at Victor.

It was a lot of money. He could do so much with it. It would really help. An evening of letting them use his body – his skin was crawling with their gazes, but he could put up with it. Let them touch him. He wouldn't have to worry about money at all after this, and then if he won the Olympics, he would never have to worry about funding his skating ever again.

He could skate better than anyone, he knew it. But he couldn't skate without skates that fit.

"Okay," he said. The word came out quieter than he meant it, not with any confidence behind it at all.

The man sent the transfer; in a couple of days, Victor was going to wake up to a lot of funds in his bank account. "Your turn," he said, and now he was doing the eye thing, too. When Victor didn't move – he didn't know what they wanted him to do – he said, "Why don't you start by stripping so we can get a good look at you?"

Victor took a deep breath, doing his best to disguise it. He couldn't quite manage a smile, but he could keep his eyes on the far wall as he took apart the outfit he'd worked to put together an hour ago. Tie, jacket, trousers. Another man stood and came over to fold everything as Victor took it off, then set aside each garment. It seemed faintly ridiculous, like – they were going to – to fuck him, if that was what they wanted, and one of them still cared about his clothes.

Victor had done it before. Not with a whole room full of people. They couldn't hurt him, though, could they? Not if they really did want him to medal, and why wouldn't they?

When he was finally rid of all his clothing, he stood there. The sensation of a dozen pair of eyes running up and down him, looking at everything, was strange. He didn't like it. But he reminded himself of the amount of money. That gold medal waiting for him. He could do this for that.

The guy next to him, the one who was kind of bug-eyed and creepier than the rest, was the first to go for him. "Come here," he said, standing from his chair. Victor took a step over and let the man wrap arms around him, and run his hands down his sides, and grab at his cock for extra staring. His instincts were to move away, but he fought them, and anyway, the stares felt like they were trying to pin him in place.

"Look at you, so pretty," the man said. He pulled Victor closer and kissed him. Victor couldn’t make himself return it, but he could open his mouth and let noises out – faint ones, more disgusted than anything, but the man seemed encouraged anyway. Probably couldn't tell the difference. He tasted like stale coffee and kissed like he was trying to choke Victor with his tongue.

"How is he?" another man asked.

The man kissing him pulled away long enough to say, "Kind of shy, but I'll bet he'll be sweet in a moment."

More chairs were scooting out, the wood scraping on the floor. Victor let the man push him onto the table and then push him down on it, knees forced open to let him stand between them.

He was never shy. Not until he was feeling like a butterfly at a museum, men gathering around to look at his body, some reaching out to touch. The one man kissed him again, pushing him hard into the table until Victor's hips hurt from it. But he'd hurt worse from training. It wasn't that bad. Even the kiss was – he'd had worse.

Something that Victor didn't see passed from one set of hands to another. He jumped when the man kissing him suddenly started to push fingers into him – already? But they were coated in something slippery, at least, see, they weren't going to hurt him. Victor tried to relax, though that was harder with so many people looking at him, and making comments about how pretty he was and what they were thinking of doing to him, and prying his thighs further apart for a better look.

The man above him was breathing hard. Victor was trying not to. He avoided looking at all of the faces and closed his eyes, only that made him even more aware of the fingers jabbing inside of him. So he re-opened them and looked at the ceiling instead.

It was really a very boring ceiling. Painted white. No cracks. Only a couple of drippy spots where someone hadn't done their job properly.

It kind of worked, thinking about the ceiling and ignoring the touches on his legs and in him, thinking about whether the ceiling painters had been lazy or if they had been rushed or not paid properly.

Maybe too well, because he didn't notice the sound of cloth shifting. He _did_ notice when the man thrust inside of him, too fast and too hard and oh god that hurt, not in the way training and injuries ever did. Victor cried out, back arching, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. Not as the man bottomed out in him, not as he pulled out and pushed in again, grinning.

"He's so tight," the man was saying. He thrust in yet again, a stabbing pain, although not quite as bad as before. Maybe just because Victor was getting his breath back. "He's going to be a good one, I can tell you that."

"Wait," Victor said, or tried to say, because another shove wrenched a high sound from him. "Wait, can you, please—" and another whine he couldn't keep down, "—just a little slower?"

"Don't wear him out just yet," someone said, and the man fucking him rolled his eyes but slowed down. That was better. Victor could work with this. He shut his mouth and focused on breathing. It hurt less like this, and it hurt less when he tried to make his body as limp as possible. They didn't really care about him, they wanted a pretty doll they could play with for one night, and he could do it, just for the money.

Another man, one of the youngest ones, clambered onto the table and pulled Victor's head into his lap. "Nice," he said, probably enjoying the different angle. "Bet he can take all of us?" He started to pet Victor's hair. Of course he did, everyone wanted to touch it. He tugged on the braid, but at least he didn't start undoing it.

"He better. That's the deal."

"Kid's been through worse. You see what our skaters go through."

But skating wasn't like this at all. Skating didn't make him feel sick, like he was trapped, like he wanted to be anywhere else. Injuries didn't hurt like this, deep inside of him. The ice was the place where he could escape from anything and be better than anyone else.

Victor thought of gold. Thought of gold as the man holding his head turned it to the side and shifted. Thought of gold when he said, "Well, I don't feel like waiting." Thought of gold when the man undid his trousers, and opened his mouth before someone forced it open.

He'd given a blowjob before, but only once, and it had been giggly and short-lived. He'd liked watching someone take pleasure in something he gave them. This wasn't anything like that, either. The man didn't care if he gave, and Victor didn't care if he enjoyed himself or not.

He let the man thrust into his mouth and tried to keep his jaw open enough that nobody threatened him about teeth, but not so wide that it started to hurt, too. At least this man didn't try to choke him. He went at a lazy pace, not working his way in so far that Victor couldn't breathe around him or gagged on his dick.

The man fucking him grunted and probably came, if the twitching was any indication. Victor had a second of relief as he pulled out, only to have to brace himself as another pair of hands fit under his hips and gripped them. This man went in more slowly than the first had, and it didn't hurt as much anymore. Maybe he was smaller. It was hard to tell.

Victor made a mental checkmark. If there were so many men in the room and they all only used him once, he could count down until this was over, and he could escape and go home and think about his new costumes instead of how he hated how the new man fucking him was tugging him around for the best angle. _Doll_ , Victor thought. He swallowed around the cock in his mouth and received fingers digging into his scalp in return.

The man using his mouth eventually came, too, and Victor swallowed because he couldn't turn his head to spit, not with the hand still in his hair. The come was bitter and didn't go down as easily as he thought it should have. His mouth got a rest, though, as apparently nobody else wanted to use it right this second.

He could hear the others touching themselves. If he opened his eyes, he could probably see it, too, but he decided that eyes closed was definitely the better option right now. He didn't need to see them admiring how good he looked with someone fucking him. Hearing was bad enough.

The second man fucking him finished, too, and Victor expected someone else to step up. Instead, the head man said, "I'll have him next. Get over here."

So they wanted him to move after all. Victor gingerly sat up, trying not to pay attention to the ache between his legs, or how his thighs slipped against each other, or, well, anything. This man was the only one still sitting down, and he'd already pulled himself out. He made a gesture. Victor could read it.

It had been relatively easy, laying there and letting them do what they wanted. It was harder to put his arms on the man's shoulders and sink down on his cock, then pull himself up and do it again. Did the man have to grip his waist so hard, or slam up into him when Victor was pushing himself down?

He kissed him, his hand in Victor's hair an unpleasant touch. He seemed to be trying to dive as deep into Victor's mouth as he was his body. Victor nearly gagged on his tongue. But he played nice, let little murmurs escape and not _stop it_. He could do this. He could.

Someone else was already claiming him for the next turn, slipping up onto the table and grabbing him from behind. Putting a mouth on his neck, which was okay, and sucking hard, which was not. Victor jerked away, or tried to, stopped by the hand in his hair. He didn't want marks, no, not bruises that would take ages to fade in the mirror.

To his surprise, though, the man fucking him smacked the one behind him on the head. "No marks. You know the rules! We absolutely can't have his coach finding out. Feltsman's one of the few who could kick up any real fuss if he knew." He looked at Victor. "Of course, I'm sure you don't want him finding out what you did for that funding, either."

Victor shook his head and kept quiet. Internally, though, he was screaming at himself. This had been such a stupid thing to agree to, hadn't it. He needed money, but – but for this? They could hold this over his head for forever. If Yakov found out, he'd be asking how Victor could have been such a fucking goddamn stupid idiot, and he'd probably be right.

But he'd said yes, and he had to get through it. And at least he was getting something out of it. So it was okay enough.

The next man who took him was maybe the worst. He didn't choke Victor or pound away until it hurt, but the way he went slowly was almost as bad. "So lovely," he said, breathing on Victor's cheek. Victor turned his head into the table. This time his legs had been hitched up on the man's shoulders, and the angle was different. He didn't want the tiny sparks of pleasure that made their way through everything else going on. He didn't want to get off on something as awful as this.

But another man said, "Bet he'd look lovelier when he's come a couple of times. They're as pliant as anything when they get fucked for long enough."

"Let's see," said the man fucking him, and he slowed down even more. Victor's stomach flipped over as he reached down to touch him. Not just in curiosity, but to stroke him.

It didn't feel good. Well, physically it did. But it made Victor really start to wish he'd said no and walked away and come up with something else for the money, because having them touch him like this was almost worse than the pain had been. They didn’t even care about whether or not he liked it; they just wanted to see him doing something they thought was amusing.

Victor tried not react to it, half-hoping that if they didn't get the reaction they wanted, they would get bored and go back to just fucking him and the faster they did that, the faster he could go home. But despite all the amazing things he could make his body do, he couldn't force it on this point. With the soft touches, his cock started to stiffen, provoking some laughter. Victor couldn't help but try to squirm away. Of course, he couldn't do that, either.

"Look, he likes it," someone said.

Another laugh. "Don’t think he wants to. Too bad he's too good to keep him and train him better."

"Can you imagine, though? Would make the meetings a lot better if we had this pretty thing on his knees for us the whole time."

Someone else leaned over to start kissing him, touching him other places, driving the pleasure Victor wanted to escape higher and higher. It was just a reaction, he told himself. Just an instinct. Just his body doing what it thought it was supposed to be doing.

But the way they talked about him made that hard to hold on to. It was like _he_ was getting off on it even though it was them, even though he didn't want to, and if he didn't want it, it couldn't really be him, could it?

He could feel tears gathering as he tried to fight off the effects of their touches. He shut his eyes, but of course someone noticed and turned his head back around. "This one's tough. Usually they start crying in the first few minutes, don't they? If they're going to cry at all. He's going to be a pretty one."

A whimper escaped his throat when he started to get close. The man was still fucking him, slow but steady, a grin widening on his face. "You really are almost wasted on the ice. Look at those eyes. So lovely. Come on, show me how pretty they can get." He twisted his hand and Victor had to bite off a moan before it got all the way out.

But he could only hold off for so long, and eventually he stopped pushing against it – the faster this was over with, the better – and let himself come. The physical pleasure was there, but he couldn't enjoy it. Especially not with the man still fucking him when Victor's nerves all felt like they were lit up, making him too aware of every slide of skin on skin. The tears he'd been trying to hold back had started spilling over, dripping off the sides of his face.

When Victor was no longer twitching with the aftershocks of the orgasm, the men started to quiet down again. So Victor lay there and let the man fuck him until he was done. Someone else slid between his legs afterward, and there was a hand moving his head again – the man who had been kissing him before wanted his mouth, it seemed.

How many had that been, again? How many to go? Victor tried to count as he let his mouth be opened for the man's cock. He gagged, this time, and the tears dripping steadily from his eyes – he couldn't stop them – didn't help.

The worst part was that he couldn't go away from himself. When the next man came in his mouth, when there were more hands on him, another man fucking him, he couldn't not think about every aching second. He couldn't seem to stop crying, either, though he hated how the sobs started to catch in his throat, how the men laughed and wiped the tears away, only for more to appear.

Someone reached for his cock again. "How many do you think we can get out of him?"

"He's young, at least another. Look, he's already getting hard again. Must be starting to like it."

"Think he'll cry harder with the next one?"

"He's already doing pretty well like this. See?" Fingers on his cheek. Someone licked his tears. Ew. He tried to turn away, but the grip on his face was too strong.

But he could close his eyes. Close his eyes and try not to think of what he'd agreed to even if it was hard to escape. There was a gold medal waiting for him, somewhere beyond this.

\---

"A special grant for development for the Olympics?" Yakov asked.

Victor nodded, smiling brightly. "Since I did so well in Juniors last year, they're hoping I can make the podium in Turin. So, money."

"Well, that's kind of them," Yakov said, his voice skeptical. "I didn't realize they had the funds for that, but at least they can recognize talent when it's beating them in the face." He reached over to ruffle Victor's hair.

Victor, back safely at home and sitting in the nice, familiar kitchen, laughed. "Can you take me to get new skates when the deposit hits my account? I want customs with little Russian flags on them."

He'd thought a lot about what kind of skates he wanted, the brand and the blades. About whether it was too soon to get gold blades and what decoration might be nice. He'd thought about it very hard on the way back, in the taxi they'd called for him. Tried not to think about how it hurt between his legs, and how it was a mess of come and lube. The first thing he'd done when he got home was take a long shower and try to forget the feeling of hands on his hips, of dick after dick driving inside of him.

It still ached. But it was manageable now. He'd taken some painkillers and was trying to figure out the best way to sit. Anyway, he was clean now, and far away from them, and he had his money. Everything was fine, or would be in a day or two.

"Of course," said Yakov. "You need new skates anyway. I remember you've been complaining that your toes hurt. They gave you enough to cover them?"

"And for costumes, and a bit of travel. I just have to go back a couple of times to show them that I'm spending the money right, that's all."

He was trying not to think about that, either. That hadn't been the original deal, but Victor had wanted so badly to leave by the end – had so much trouble thinking straight – that he'd said yes when they told him, anyway.

It would still be worth it when he got his gold medal. He'd never have to see them again, after that. Maybe they'd find some other desperate young pretty doll to play with. Which was a mean thought, but Victor couldn't help but think it anyway.

"As long as they're spending the money on our athletes," said Yakov. "I'm glad someone's learned to be generous."

"Yeah," said Victor, reaching for the cup of tea he'd left to cool and taking a sip to ease the tightness in his throat. "It's really nice of them."


End file.
